A superfical layer.
A well bound impression.
An image laced, upon a face.
A pressed and turned, illustrated perception.
What might that be?
Does it stray stout, for what's kept in?
May it smear so perfectly.
Automatically.
Does it hide disturbed imperfection?
Does the depths release stored recollections?
What else might there be?
A layer beyond layer.
A sharp eye, for what can be seen.
A constructed mask, for what's really there.
A tightened noose for all that is bared.
Automatically,
Does it cover up what may appeal?
Does it shield the depths of what is real?
Is it common, for us?
For all we keep sealed.
For all we carry around.
All these impressions and layers be bound.
Can we pick off the layers of what is found?
Automatically.
Will it ever sieze?
Will it ever release?
Say farewell to what's unerneath,
Or will it keep setteling in?
A superfical layer.
A well bound impression.
An image laced, upon a face.
A pressed and turned,
Illustrated perception.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem